


Thunderbirds Drabbles

by Inyri



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: F/F, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 12,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inyri/pseuds/Inyri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing set of cute character moments arranged in drabbles on specific topics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time

**Author's Note:**

> I am following the set of themes created by TFME for their 30 Themes Drabble Challenge (http://meijitales.com/viewstory.php?sid=1773&chapter=1)
> 
> I have written this series for that-feminist-soprano.tumblr.com and it is also posted on FF.net.

**1\. Time**

After a callout, the minutes spent loading up and launching the ‘birds seemed to fly too fast. People were waiting on them and precious moments were slipping away with each diagnostic and launch sequence. But once they were off toward the danger zone, time swung back all the way in the other direction like a pendulum, each second passing aggravatingly slowly. 

Jeff sat at his desk, tapping anxious fingers on the hard surface, and Tin-Tin predictably arrived with a fresh pot of coffee. 

“Do not worry, Mr. Tracy,” she said. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to get the rockslide under control.” But Jeff’s mind was elsewhere, in another time when another woman had brought him coffee. 

He pushed the memories of the avalanche away, looking up at Tin-Tin instead and focusing on her goodwill and good health. 

“You’re right, Tin-Tin,” he said. “I shouldn’t worry. I’ve trained those boys well and they’ll do their job.” 

“Precisely,” the girl replied, pouring him a cup of the hot, dark liquid. “Many people owe their lives to the work of International Rescue. So, do not fret, Mr. Tracy.” 

“Thank you, Tin-Tin,” he said. 

She took a seat near him in the lounge, picking up a magazine to pass the time. Her presence calmed him, as it always did, and he had to admit that although time had been an enemy, it had also been a friend. Because it had brought him his boys and his friends and this new life with International Rescue.


	2. Cherry Blossoms

**2\. Cherry Blossoms**

Lady Penelope sat in her parlor, sipping tea and flipping through a fashion magazine. Parker stepped in, leaving the mail beside her on the end table. 

“Thank you, Parker,” she said automatically, turning to sift through the envelopes. 

“Excuse me, milady, but there was something h’else. H’I don’t think her ladyship would want me to bring h’it h’inside, so perhaps her ladyship should come see h’it for ‘erself.” 

Penny stood at once, immensely curious as to what her butler could possibly be referring to. She followed him to the front door and stepped outside. 

A beautiful cherry blossom tree stood majestically in a pot, its pink flowers in full bloom. 

“It’s beautiful,” Penny said, stepping toward it and running her fingers against the velvety petals. “But who has sent it? And why?” 

“There h’was a message attached,” Parker said, handing it to his mistress. Penny took the ornate stationary from him, reading the prettily penned words: 

_The Cherry Blossom is a symbol of female beauty and love. Since you already have the former, my hope is that now you may have the latter as well. As Yoshida Kenko says, “Blossoms are scattered by the wind and the wind cares nothing, but the blossoms of the heart no wind can touch.” --Tin-Tin_

For one of the few times in her life, Penny was at a loss for words. 

Finally, after she’d recovered command of herself, she said, 

“Parker, ready my things. I’m taking a trip to Tracy Island at once.” 

“Very good, milady,” Parker replied, an almost imperceptible glimmer in his eye.


	3. Story

**3\. Story**

“I don’t wanna go to sleep!” 5-year-old Alan whined, pulling at his spaceship sheets in defiance. All of his brothers were huddled around his bed, 10-year-old Scott taking the lead. 

“Alan, if you don’t go to bed soon, Grandma is going to come in and then we’re all going to be in trouble.” 

“Scott’s right,” Virgil put in. 

“Hey, what if we told you a bedtime story?” John suggested. “Then, would you quiet down?” 

Alan thought about this for a moment and then nodded his head. Gordon let out a sigh of relief. 

“Alright,” Scott conceded. “What do you want to hear a story about?” 

“Dad in space!” Alan shouted and Virgil immediately shushed him. 

“So predictable,” John commented, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, Alan,” Gordon said, taking John’s lead, “SO predict-table!” But the older boys knew better: Gordon wanted to hear about their father as well. 

“Ok, Alan, you have to promise to be quiet,” Virgil reminded him. 

“I will!” Alan replied. 

“Ok,” Scott said, settling more comfortably on Alan’s bed. His brothers gathered around him, Alan burying down into his pillow and Gordon jumping into his oldest brother’s lap. “Ready?” 

“Ready!” Gordon and Alan yelled at once. 

“Once upon a time,” Scott started, “there was a man named Jeff Tracy and he was an astronaut…”


	4. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reference to "The Cham-Cham"

**4\. Rain**

Virgil sat at his piano, playing nothing in particular and watching the rivets of rain run down the glass doors to the balcony. Tin-Tin and Scott sat with him in the lounge, Tin-Tin reading and Scott looking out the window. 

“I hate rainy days,” Scott said. “There’s nothing to do.” 

“Gordon is out in the pool anyway,” Virgil commented, playing the opening to Debussy’s setting of “ _Il pleure dans mon coeur_ ” from memory. 

“He’s a fish,” Scott retorted. 

“Oh, I love the rain,” Tin-Tin said, smiling. “It’s so lovely to watch and the sound is so soothing. I feel as though I can just drift into a peaceful sleep at any moment.” 

“You and I have very different ideas of fun,” Scott said. 

“Not so different as you think, Scott,” Tin-Tin said with a smirk. 

Virgil changed the song to something a bit jazzier and said, 

“Don’t you two start on that again.” 

“Oh, I know,” Scott said, only slightly changing the subject. “Virgil, play that ‘Dangerous Game’ song and Tin-Tin, do your impression of Penny singing. I love that.” 

Virgil shook his head in disapproval, but he played the song Scott had requested anyway. Tin-Tin stood and bowed and then started to walk along the edge of the piano. In a low, crooning voice, she began to sing. 

Suddenly, Scott found the rainy day far more fun.


	5. Sword

**5\. Sword**

Penny wandered in from the garden, her brain drifting between her MI5 duties and the lovely sunlit shores of Tracy Island that she had not long ago abandoned for the cold seclusion of Foxley-Heath. 

As she passed through one of the back hallways, she heard the strange _tack tack tack_ of one solid object hitting another. Intrigued, she used her secret agent skills and quietly moved down the hall, following the sound to an almost-closed door. She knew it to be an empty room which had sometimes been used for storage. She put her eye to the crack in the door, peering inside. 

The sight that met her was the last she would have imagined. 

Parker had set up a wooden medieval-looking dummy, rummaged up from somewhere in the mansion’s vast storage, and he was whacking it with an antique-looking sword that Penny recognized immediately as being the one that usually hung in one of her sitting rooms. She watched for a moment as the man attacked the dummy relentlessly, making appropriate fighting sounds and taunting his imaginary foe: 

“You think you can beat me, h’eh? Well, take that h’and _that_!” 

After a moment of this nonsense, Penny pushed open the door and stood at the threshold, politely clearing her throat. Parker turned at once, a deep flush lighting up his cheeks. 

“Yes, milady?” 

“What exactly are you doing, Parker?” she asked, using all of her training to keep the smile from her face. 

“H’I can explain, milady,” Parker began sheepishly. “You see, h’I found this ‘ere dummy in the storage and h’I just thought h’I’d give h’it some use.” 

“Yes,” Penny began, “but how does my decorative sword factor into this situation?” 

“Well…” Parker stalled. “H’I just couldn’t find a suitable weapon h’elsewhere.” 

“I see.” Penny let out a sigh, as though in resignation, and continued, “Well, just be sure to return it to its proper place when you’ve finished.” 

“Yes, milady,” came his dutiful response. 

Then, Penny left him to it, finally allowing the smile to slip out when she was safely down the hall.


	6. Iris

**6\. Iris**

Gordon tapped his fingers restlessly on his chair, boredom eating away at his brain. There hadn’t been a callout in days and he needed something to do. Moreover, he needed something _fun_ to do. 

He knew that the most fruitful time to hack Scott’s phone was right after he’d returned from leave and his oldest brother had just landed from a week’s vacation. The timing seemed too perfect to pass up. 

Gordon nonchalantly made his way to Scott’s room, innocently knocking on the door. When no response came, Gordon opened the door himself to find Scott dead asleep on his bed. Gordon knew from experience that whenever Scott was immensely tired, he sprawled haphazardly across the entire bed, just as he was at that moment. Completely confident now, the redhead tiptoed across his brother’s room and retrieved the phone from the night table. He left without another sound, leaving his brother to sleep. 

He went to Alan’s room next, receiving a “Yeah?” when he knocked. Gordon entered and simply held up Scott’s phone as an explanation. 

“Ah, yes!” Alan cheered, glad to repeat one of his favorite past times. 

The two brothers sat side by side on Alan’s bed, quickly hacking Scott’s obvious password (“1234”) and opening up his recent photos. 

After flipping through a few, they found an obvious pattern: a dark-haired girl with a pretty smile and a penchant for crop tops. 

“She’s hot,” Alan commented. 

“And currently nameless,” Gordon said, opening Scott’s text messages. He quickly found what he was looking for. 

“Iris?” Alan said as they scrolled through the gushy messages. “What kind of name is that?” 

“It’s a flower,” Gordon answered. “Like Heather or Lily. It’s not that weird.” 

“Weird enough to make fun of him for,” Alan pointed out. 

“Very true,” Gordon said, flipping back to the photos. “Let the teasing begin…”


	7. Bamboo

**7\. Bamboo**

Gordon was beside himself when it finally came in the mail. He ripped open the box, gasping at the hand-crafted beauty of his newest possession: The Georgely’s Deluxe Bamboo Spitball Shooter. Oh, the fun he’d been planning ever since he’d found that it existed and subsequently ordered it. 

He quickly unwrapped the shooter, set it up, and then created twenty spitballs. He stuffed his supplies in his pockets and headed out to find some unsuspecting victims. 

As he stepped out of his room, he heard the far-off sound of the piano and knew the first attack was going to be too easy. Pretending he was a Marine, he snuck into the lounge on his belly, eying his prey obliviously playing at the piano. Once the target was in range, he pulled a spitball from his pocket and loaded his shooter. Then, with a carefully aimed shot, he blew into the bamboo tube. 

The wadded paper hit Virgil directly in the back of the head. 

Virgil stopped playing immediately, lifting a hand to his head and turning to figure out what had happened to him. But Gordon was already gone, holding in his laughter until he was safely in his room. 

The attacks continued throughout the week: Jeff while he was reading the paper, Scott while he was doing diagnostics on One, Tin-Tin while sunbathing at the poolside, Alan while he was asleep, and Brains while he was having an awkward vidcall with an old colleague. No one was able to get a good look at their attacker, but they all guessed that it was the prankster of the house. But soon enough, Gordon’s lucky streak ended and he finally made a fatal mistake. 

Gordon stalked the hallway leading to the lounge, waiting to wreak his havoc on the next unfortunate soul to pass by. He crouched in the hall, having achieved a perfect view of the doorway to the lounge, and smiled broadly when he heard footsteps approaching. 

He readied his weapon, waiting patiently as the person moved closer. The moment they stepped into the hall, he didn’t hesitate—he just took the shot. 

“Oh!” the poor victim said in her light, refined voice. 

Gordon looked in horror as Penny pulled the offending object out of her perfectly arranged hair. 

Jeff rushed into the hallway, saying, 

“What happened?” 

Gordon stood slowly, hiding his shooter behind his back and smiling sheepishly. 

“Hi, Dad.” 

“Son,” Jeff replied, giving Gordon his signature glare. Gordon knew the gig was up. 

“Sorry, Penny,” he said. 

“No harm done,” she said, handing Jeff the spitball she’d extracted from her hair as though she was passing him a dainty cracker. 

Jeff put his hand out to Gordon, who reluctantly handed over his beloved shooter. 

No one saw it ever again after that.


	8. Moon

**8\. Moon**

The three oldest Tracy boys sat out by the pool in the darkness, drinking and watching the stars. They’d been talking for nearly an hour already, the topics of conversation growing more and more serious as the night went on. 

“Do you ever think that you’re looking up at the moon and the girl you’re going to end up with is looking up at the moon at the same time?” Scott asked suddenly. 

“Sure,” John answered. “Unless she’s on the other side of the world and it’s physically impossible for that to happen.” 

“Way to ruin it, John,” Scott said, fighting the urge to punch his brother on the arm. 

“No, I think it’s a nice thought,” Virgil said, always the artistic one. “Besides, who knew that Scott was such a romantic.” 

“What’s that story?” John started. “Where the guy was in love with the moon and then the moon became a woman and he became a wolverine?” 

“Are you just misremembering the story from _X-Men Origins_?” Scott asked, unimpressed. 

“What a horrible movie,” Virgil put in. “So many plot holes.” 

“ _Now_ who’s ruining things?” John said. 

“Ok, but seriously,” Scott continued, “do you ever worry about how we’re going to meet anyone when we’re on IR duty all the time?” 

John shrugged, but Virgil’s expression grew more thoughtful. 

“I have considered it,” he said. “And I’m not sure that I’ve come up with a viable solution yet.” 

“Well, I’ll get Brains on it,” John joked. 

“Not your worst idea, John,” Scott said, chuckling lightly. 

“It might actually be worth a go,” Virgil agreed. 

“Are you kidding?” John asked. “That poor man is the worst when something involves women.” 

“I suppose,” Virgil said. “Wish we could change that.” 

Scott and John nodded their agreement to this statement. 

“Well,” Scott said, breaking them from their momentary lapse into disappointment, “until then, here’s to brotherhood.” He lifted his drink to accentuate his statement. 

“Here here!” John put in. The three brothers clinked glasses and went back to admiring the moon.


	9. Shooting Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank and tip my hat to Teobi (on FF.net), who inspired the idea of Virgil taking Tin-Tin to jazz clubs. Her TB fic, The Edge of Brief Insanity, is a really good read. :)

**9\. Shooting Star**

Tin-Tin loved it when Virgil took her with him to jazz clubs. Her particular favorite was The Shooting Star – a smaller establishment started by an American and tucked away in the heart of Berlin. She loved how the German language, completely foreign to her ears, washed over her, leaving her to enjoy the environment and the music in the most unfettered fashion possible. 

That night, Virgil was at the piano for a good amount of the night, the club’s manager ecstatic to see the Tracy son and urging him to return again and again to the piano to entertain the guests. Penny had come along this time, keeping Tin-Tin company at the table during Virgil’s sets. The English aristocrat was thrilled to have an opportunity to practice her German. She spoke politely with the waiter on a couple of occasions, her German somehow as delicate and refined as her English. Tin-Tin marveled at the woman’s seemingly unending number of talents. 

The audience clapped as Virgil finished a jazzy improvisation on the famous “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Before he began his next song, he took a moment to announce, 

“This next selection goes out to my two good friends, who know that life can, in fact, be a dangerous game.” 

He started that infamous song from Penny and Tin-Tin’s first mission together, the tune well-known to them both. At the recognition, Penny reached over to squeeze Tin-Tin’s hand, a small smile on her face. 

Tin-Tin closed her eyes for a moment, soaking in the beauty of the music and all the memories it brought with it. What struck her most, in that moment, was the thought that she and Penny had been close to death in the racing cable car and yet they’d both been so calm. Tin-Tin knew that Penny’s fearlessness in the face of danger had been the thing to keep her stable when she could have so easily fallen apart. 

Opening her eyes, Tin-Tin looked over at Penny, who was also obviously absorbed in the music. It was easy to get caught up in the woman’s beauty, especially in the moodily dim lighting of the club, and Tin-Tin had felt that way since the first time she’d met the blonde, but things were different now. Penny was so much more than a pretty face to her. 

Tin-Tin broke from her reverie when the song ended and Virgil stood from the piano, bowing politely to the applause. He came to sit next to Tin-Tin, smiling at both women as he took his seat. 

“That was lovely,” Penny said immediately. “Thank you, darling.” 

“Yes,” Tin-Tin added. “Thank you, Virgil.” 

“Anything for my two favorite ladies,” he replied. “Now, what would you like to drink?” 

Tin-Tin smiled, breathing in the distinct air of the club and feeling like the luckiest woman in the world.


	10. Rice

**10\. Rice**

The sun shone radiantly on the crisp Spring morning, lending just enough warmth for everyone to be comfortable both indoors and outdoors. The flowers had just come into bloom around the old, white church and there was just the tiniest hint of a breeze, scattering petals across the lawn. 

The double doors to the church opened and a mass of people exited, hurriedly arranging themselves on either side of the path leading from the church. Everyone was dressed nicely for the occasion, most of all Jeff Tracy. He stood there in his tailored tux, a huge smile on his face. 

After a moment of excited anticipation, the newly-married couple emerged from the church. Scott’s smile was somehow bigger than his father’s as he walked down the path, a smiling Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward Tracy on his arm. The assembled crowd threw rice high into the air as Gordon and Alan whooped loudly. 

It was all perfect. 

And it was all suddenly over when the oven’s timer started beeping, waking Grandma Tracy from her impromptu nap. She rubbed her eyes, readjusting her glasses on her face and squinting at the timer. 

“What a lovely dream,” she said to herself as she stood to check on her apple pie. “It’s too bad it was only a dream…”


	11. Wind Chimes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after "The Uninvited"

**11\. Wind Chimes**

Kyrano studied the outside of the Tracy estate, trying to locate the ideal place for his newest acquisition. As he walked along the perimeter of the house, Jeff spotted him from indoors. Curiosity got the better of the Tracy patriarch and he got up to meet his friend, determined to get to the bottom of the situation. 

As Jeff expected, Kyrano detected his presence when he was still a good ways off, but the man didn’t speak until Jeff was within earshot. 

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Tracy?” 

“I was about to ask you the same question. What are you up to out here?” 

Kyrano lifted the object that he held so Jeff could examine it. 

“Wind chimes?” Jeff asked. 

“Yes,” Kyrano answered. “I’m going to hang them to ward off the evil spirits, sir.” 

Jeff, not a spiritual or superstitious man in any way, shook his head. 

“I appreciate the gesture,” he began, “but I don’t think it’s necessary. We don’t have any evil spirits here on Tracy Island.” 

“I know that you are a man of science,” Kyrano said patiently. “But I do not think that science can account for everything. Since Scott was shot down, I have felt strange. I want to try and change things if I can. Give us some protection.” 

“Thank you, Kyrano. But you don’t have to do this.” 

“But, Mr. Tracy, I wish to.” 

Jeff considered for a moment. As much as he didn’t want to condone superstitious behavior, he also didn’t want to insult his friend. Besides, they were only harmless wind chimes. Virgil would probably enjoy them for their musical properties. 

“Alright,” Jeff said finally. “Hang them wherever you think is best.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Tracy. I will.” 

So Jeff left Kyrano to his mission, thinking that maybe they could use all the good luck they could get.


	12. Glass

**12\. Glass**

“Now they’re shooting at us,” Lady Penelope observed dully, not even bothering to turn her head to look at her attackers. FAB1 raced along the deserted country road, Parker’s fingers secure on the wheel. 

“Shall h’I retaliate, milady?” he asked, turning his head ever so slightly to properly address her. 

“Perhaps in a moment if we cannot succeed at losing them.” 

Another bullet ricocheted off the glass enclosure of the pink Rolls Royce, the echo pinging a bit too close to Penny’s head for comfort. 

“How tiresome,” she said, her voice as cool as ever. “Parker, perhaps you should take out a tire or two.” 

“Very good, milady,” Parker replied and began to press the buttons to control the aft artillery. 

With a peek in the rearview mirror, Parker took his shot. The pursuing car careened off into the shoulder with a loud shriek of rubber and metal. FAB1 accelerated, leaving the other car far behind. 

“Thank you, Parker,” Penny said, leaning back against her seat and allowing her muscles to relax. “If we could have some music…” 

“Yes, milady,” Parker said, turning on the radio and adjusting the dial to one of Penny’s favorite channels. 

Penny let the music fill the interior of the Rolls, grateful for the thousandth time that she’d invested in bullet-proof glass.


	13. Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I'm showing my John-loving side.
> 
> I've wanted to do a "John on Five" piece for a while. This isn't what I expected to write, but I like how it came out anyway. Hope you like it, too.

**13\. Far Away**

Most people described space as cold and lifeless, but John Tracy had a very different outlook on the matter. Where others saw isolation, John saw blissful solitude. Where others saw endless miles of dead blackness, John found life and brilliant beauty. He loved his ‘bird and he loved his post more than he often cared to admit. 

So it was with slight irritation that John answered the vidcall from home. He’d just settled down for a night of reading, a steaming cup of tea at his side and his body comfortably arranged in his chair. In short, it was the exact moment when he wanted least to be disturbed. But he knew that he couldn’t ignore the call. 

With a sigh, he established the link. 

“Yes?” he said, pulling the collar of his dressing gown a bit tighter over his chest. 

“Sorry to b-bother you, J-John, b-but I just had a t-thought that I had to run b-by you.” 

Brains was not who John had been expecting, but he supposed it wasn’t the worst call he could have gotten. Had it been one of his brothers, he might have feigned tiredness and pushed them off until the next day, but he had to be more polite with Tracy Island’s resident genius. 

“What is it, Brains?” John asked, his tone and demeanor all business. 

Brains went on to describe an epiphany he’d had about how to calibrate Five’s sensors. John listened patiently, genuinely impressed by the idea. He congratulated his friend and made plans to implement the idea the next day. Then, he respectfully signed off. 

Alone once again, John let out a sigh of relief. He picked up his book, sipping at his warm tea, and resettled into his chair. 

He’d just finished one page when his communicator rang again. He groaned, seriously considering ignoring the call. 

But after a moment, his sense of responsibility got the better of him and he established a link. 

“Yes?” 

“Hey, John.” It was Virgil and he had that grave look in his eyes that John knew all too well. 

“Virg, I’m sorry if you want to talk, but I’m dead tired.” He felt guilty turning down his brother, but he just didn’t have the energy to do otherwise. 

“I understand,” Virgil replied. “But I didn’t call to talk. I was just calling to make sure you were okay since today is—“ 

His words cut off, but John knew what he was going to say. Today was the anniversary of their mother’s death. 

“I’m just trying not to think about it,” John said honestly, feeling safe to admit such a thing to his younger brother. “But thanks.” 

“Just thought you might need someone.” 

John shrugged, saying simply, 

“Duty calls.” 

“I know,” Virgil said, a sad smile tugging at the very edge of his mouth. “Well, goodnight, John.” 

“Goodnight, Virg.” 

The link went dead, darkening the room. 

John turned back to his tea, downing it in one sip and leaving his book untouched. Gathering his dressing gown around him, he padded off to bed. His footsteps were the only sound in the still space station. 

He laid in bed, oblivious to the ever-present drifting of the station and the eternal spinning of the Earth beneath him. He thought only of the woman who was irretrievably far away, beyond the grasp of any rocketship, epiphany, or childhood wish.


	14. Butterfly

**14\. Butterfly**

“Let the blackmail begin!” John announced, pumping his fist as he sat beside Virgil on the couch in the lounge. Scott stood behind them, leaning forward to better see the object in John’s hand. 

“I’ll go get Tin-Tin,” Gordon said, racing from the room. 

“I can’t believe this really happened,” Virgil said. 

“I can,” Scott replied. 

“This is _Alan_ we’re talking about,” John pointed out. 

“What’s going on?” Tin-Tin asked, stepping into the lounge and approaching the boys curiously. Gordon came in behind her, joining the others. 

“You have to see this,” John said, moving over to make room for her on the couch. She sat beside him and he handed her the object that they’d all been so excited about. 

The boys instinctively huddled closer to her as she examined it, awaiting her reaction. 

“Oh my!” she said, raising a hand to her mouth as she stared down at the photograph in her hand. 

“We knew you’d love it!” Scott said and Gordon smiled cheekily. 

“God bless Grandma and her faithful dedication to the photographic arts,” John said. 

Tin-Tin examined the photo more closely. It was obviously Halloween and a six-year-old Alan was dressed in a decadent butterfly costume. Green sequined wings stretched from his back, matching his hideous orange jumpsuit and blue rain boots. Young Alan seemed extremely happy with his costume, a huge smile lighting up his entire face. 

“Alan never did have particularly good fashion sense,” Virgil said off-handedly. 

“But he was a cute little boy,” Tin-Tin said, almost laughing at the overgrown mop of blond hair on child Alan’s head. 

“And he made such an _adorable_ little butterfly!” Gordon added, flapping his arms dramatically. 

“I cannot wait until rotation so we can properly tease him about this,” John put in. 

“Why wait?” Scott said. “This is what we have teleradio for.” 

“Very true,” Gordon said, sprinting over to his father’s desk and calling Alan up on Five. The youngest brother answered almost immediately. 

“Hey!” he answered, smiling. But when he saw everyone congregated in the lounge, his smile faltered. He noticed Gordon’s grin next and his suspicion only grew. 

“What’s going on?” he asked carefully. 

“We have something to show you,” Scott said. 

Alan let out a rush of breath and looked away for a moment. Then, he said, 

“Why do I have the feeling that I’m not going to enjoy this?” 

The others just smiled.


	15. Wings

**15\. Wings**

Virgil sat on a supply crate in Two’s silo, a sketchpad balanced on his knees. He looked up at his massive green ‘bird, his gaze following the craft’s dips and curves. Some people considered Two big and clumsy, but Virgil had always thought she was perfect. 

He turned back to his pad, charcoal dirtying his fingers but leaving pure lines on the page. Virgil had recreated Two a dozen times with several different mediums, but he was never satisfied with the end product. There was always something not quite right and he’d been unsuccessful at determining exactly what that elusive thing was. 

He continued to sketch his beloved ‘bird, musing that the green ship might be a very welcome sight to people besides himself. He often thought about those awaiting rescue, fighting every second for their lives, and how the arrival of Two must be an incredibly comforting happening. He’d be the first to admit that this concept brought him a lot of joy and fulfillment. 

“Hey, Virg!” 

Scott’s greeting cut into the artist’s thoughts, bringing him back to the real world. 

He lifted his head to watch his older brother approach, replying, 

“Hey, Scott. Anything up?” 

“I was just looking for you,” he said. “Dad was bugging me so I made some excuse that you needed my help. Then I figured that I might as well actually come and see you. What are you doing in here, anyway?” 

Virgil held up his unfinished sketch as an answer. 

“You’re obsessed,” Scott commented. 

“I could say the same about you,” Virgil replied. The caught look on Scott’s face proved that he knew Virgil was right. 

“Well, it’s looking good, Virg,” he said, indicating the sketch. 

“Thanks,” he said. “There’s just something a bit off about it and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out what it is.” 

“Let me have a look,” Scott said, extending his hand to take the sketchpad. Virgil didn’t have much faith in Scott’s art critique skills, but he handed the picture to him anyway, figuring that he had nothing to lose. 

Scott held the incomplete sketch in front of him, knitting his eyebrows together in concentration. Virgil bit his lip to hide a smile at his brother’s seriousness. 

“It’s the wings,” Scott declared suddenly, pointing at the offending portion of the picture. Virgil stood and grabbed the pad from his brother, looking at his rendering of Two’s wings. 

“You’re right!” Virgil said, shocked. 

“See, I’m not as useless as you sometimes think,” Scott said, smugly crossing his arms across his chest. Virgil just kept staring at his sketch. 

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice,” Scott said. But instead of answering, Virgil started to leave at a hurried pace. 

“Hey, where are you going?” Scott called after him. 

“To check my other pictures!” Virgil yelled back and then he was out of the room. He had a sneaking suspicion that his brother had solved his problem and that every one of his previous attempts at Thunderbird Two would have the same disproportioned wings. He couldn’t be sure, but he was determined to find out.


	16. Past

**16\. Past**

John sat on the couch in the Kansas farmhouse’s living room, his young brow furrowed in concentration as he read his book. His hard-won focus was shattered when his mother entered the room and asked, 

“Johnny, what are you doing in here? Your brothers are playing outside. Why don’t you join them?” 

“I don’t want to,” John answered moodily. 

“Why not?” Lucy asked, taking a seat beside him on the couch and ruffling his hair. 

“Because I want to read my book,” he said, letting go of his book with one hand to fix his hair. 

“Sweetie, you can’t hide inside all day.” 

“Yes I can,” John insisted. “I’m doing it right now.” 

“But if you spend all your time reading, you’ll miss what’s going on around you. The world is just whizzing past you and you’ll miss it.” 

“Is the world as fast as Dad’s rocket?” John asked, genuinely curious. Lucy chuckled. 

“Faster,” she answered. 

“Faster!?” 

“Yes,” his mother assured him with a small laugh. “Come on, honey, why don’t you go out with your brothers?” 

John sat there for a moment, thinking hard. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “if the world is really that fast…” 

He jumped up from the couch and handed his book to his mother. 

“Don’t lose my page!” he ordered her and then ran off, his white-blond hair flopping crazily. Lucy just watched him go, smiling to herself.


	17. Snow

**17\. Snow**

It was December in England and Foxley-Heath hadn’t yet seen its first snowfall. Parker had already outfitted FAB1 with snow tires and Lady Penelope had retrieved her fur coats from storage, but there hadn’t been much use for either. 

The afternoon light was stark and grey as Tin-Tin approached the large, white mansion. She dragged her suitcase behind her, another overnight bag slung over her shoulder, and entered the house without so much as knocking. 

Tin-Tin left her luggage by the front door and followed the sound of Penny’s voice to the main room, the Englishwoman’s distinct timbre carrying through the halls. She wandered in to find Parker half crushed by a large pine tree and Penny supervising. 

“Yes, just right there, Parker.” 

Tin-Tin leaned against the doorway, watching the exchange with amusement. She only watched a moment more before Penny spotted her and walked over, saying, 

“Oh, you’re here! You’re just in time to witness Parker putting up the Christmas tree.” 

“How exciting,” Tin-Tin said, allowing herself to be embraced by Penny. 

“Hello, darling,” the blonde said, holding the smaller woman close. “It is so good to see you.” 

“I’m so happy to see you, too,” Tin-Tin said, breathing in the familiar and soothing scent of Penny’s perfume. “It’s been too long.” 

“Agreed,” Penny said, releasing Tin-Tin and kissing her quickly. “Let us have your things squared away. Have you brought much with you?” 

“Not much,” she replied. “I’ve left it in the front hall. I hope that’s alright.” 

“Perfectly.” 

“Milady,” Parker said, “h’I don’t mean to h’interrupt, but look.” He pointed out the large front window, which looked out over Foxley-Heath’s extensive lawn. The women had to watch for a moment before they saw it: the barest dusting of fresh white snow swirling in the winter air. 

“H’it’s the first snow h’of the season, milady.” 

“Indeed it is, Parker.” 

The three stood for a moment, simply acknowledging the event, before Penny said, 

“Tin-Tin, leave your coat on. We’re going up to the roof.” 

A few minutes later, Penny and Tin-Tin had made their way to the roof. Penny pulled the collar of her coat closer as the snow fell lightly around them. They moved toward the ledge that ran around the edge of the roof, looking out over the landscape. 

“How beautiful,” Tin-Tin cooed, looking up at the sky. Penny looked over at her, smiling. 

“This isn’t something you get to see on your tropical island,” she commented. 

“Never,” Tin-Tin agreed. 

Penny took a step closer to the brunette, reaching out her hand. Tin-Tin took it without hesitation, lacing her small fingers through Penny’s long ones. Penny’s hand was warm, a comfort in the chilly afternoon. 

Tin-Tin felt a snowflake land directly on her nose, melting quickly against the heat of her skin. Penny noticed it and smiled, unaware of the flakes sitting innocently on her long, painted eyelashes. 

Quietly, Penny asked, 

“Have you ever been kissed in the snow?” 

Tin-Tin looked up at her, beautiful and delicate amidst the falling whiteness. 

“No.” 

“Neither have I.” 

So, in the first snowfall of December, Penny claimed Tin-Tin’s lips, marking three firsts in one swift motion. Tin-Tin leaned toward her eagerly, taking hold of Penny’s coat and drowning in the sensations of the moment. It was a strange concoction of feelings, the feathery, cold snow juxtaposed with the firm, warm kiss, but Tin-Tin enjoyed it thoroughly, undaunted by the intensity of it all. 

Penny broke the kiss gently, looking down at Tin-Tin with a light in her eyes. Tin-Tin smiled up at the woman she’d never imagined she’d fall in love with, thinking that there were definite perks to being away from Tracy Island.


	18. Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me.

**18\. Night**

The call came in just when John thought the mission was over. 

The miners had all been rescued from the cave and Scott was packing up Mobile Control. John had been brewing a cup of tea, his mind elsewhere, when Scott’s voice came over the communicator with an alarmingly urgency. 

“Mobile Control to Base. There’s been an accident. Virgil was caught in a cave-in. We’ve got him out, but he’s badly injured. Permission to return to Base immediately.” 

John’s entire body tensed up and he quickly abandoned his tea, rushing over to the communicator to monitor further transmissions. 

“Permission granted,” Jeff’s voice came immediately. 

“I’m going to take him in One,” Scott said. 

“But Two is fully equipped with a medical bay,” Jeff pointed out. 

“But One is faster,” Scott said, “and I think time is of the essence. I’m not sure there’s much Alan can do to stabilize him. I think it’s best to get him back to Brains as soon as possible.” 

There was silence on the line and John pressed his fingers nervously into his thighs. 

In all his time on Five, John had grown accustomed to being out of reach while his brothers faced incredible dangers. He thought he’d mastered that sense of helplessness that inevitably came with his post, but the feeling came rushing back now, threatening to drown him with its intensity. 

Unable to wait any longer for his father’s decision, he cut into the conversation. 

“Dad? What’s your call?” 

“Base to Thunderbird Two,” was his father’s response to the prod. “Alan, are you there?” 

“Kind of busy, Dad,” came the response, Alan’s voice breathy and labored. 

“Son, you have to make the call. Can you help Virgil or should we put him on One for direct transport to Base?” 

There was another tense silence – 20 long seconds dragging on for what seemed like so much longer – and then Alan’s voice came over the communicator. 

“Let’s go with One. His injuries are beyond me.” 

“Alright, Scott,” Jeff’s voice replied with what they all knew was a forced calm. “You’re taking Virgil. Get back to Base as quickly as you possibly can without putting yourself at risk.” 

“FAB.” 

John imagined he heard a hint of relief in Scott’s voice. 

A strange spark of jealousy raced through John. Scott had the more demanding task, no doubt, but at least he was directly contributing. John could only sit up in his space station and try to keep communication as clear as possible. 

“I’ll radio in once I take off,” Scott promised. 

“FAB,” Jeff replied and then another painfully long stretch of silence ensued. 

John paced Five, unable to keep any part of his body still while Virgil was so close to— 

He pushed the very idea out of his head. Instead, he focused on the happy aspects of their relationship. Being more studious and less extroverted than their eldest brother, Virgil and John had always been close. They shared an understanding that the other brothers couldn’t and, because of it, John had always felt a special attachment to Virgil. 

An unsettled feeling sank into his bones and he paced faster, occasionally eying the controls as he fought the urge to call in to request more information. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, finally digging them into his hair. He usually hated messing up his hair, but now he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Finally, just when John felt on the verge of cracking, Scott’s voice filled the emptiness. 

“I have Virgil aboard and I am leaving the danger zone. ETA is 37 minutes.” 

“FAB,” Jeff said. John raced over to the panel, opening his link. 

“Hurry, Scott,” John couldn’t help but add. 

“He’ll be alright, John,” Scott answered in his patent big brother voice. John knew he only used that particular tone when he was scared but wanted to be the rock for everyone else. It only worried John more. 

Unsure what else to do, John opened a line to speak privately with his father. This time he turned on the video so they could talk face-to-face. 

“Go ahead, John,” Jeff said, his expression stony. 

“Let me come down to Base,” John said without preamble. “I want to be with Virgil.” 

“Son, you know I can’t do that right now.” 

“But when Scott and Alan return,” John pressed. 

“They’ll no doubt be exhausted from the rescue,” Jeff said. “And I doubt Alan will want to go up to Five early.” 

“But can you at least ask them?” John knew he was being selfish, that he shouldn’t even ask, but the need to be at Virgil’s side was eating persistently at him, making him desperate. 

Jeff sighed heavily, the stress of the situation finally showing on his face. 

“Alright, John, I’ll ask them. But if they say no—“ 

“Then I’ll do my duty up here,” John finished. “I understand, Father.” 

“I’ll call when I have news,” Jeff said. 

“FAB.” 

Then the link closed and John was once again alone with his worry. 

He tried to distract himself with everything he could think of, but all his efforts failed. He went restlessly from reading to making food to listening in on random frequencies to throwing a tennis ball against a blank spot on the wall. 

After what seemed like ages, but was actually only 35 minutes, Scott called in to Base for permission to land. John sat in his chair, his fingers pressed tight against the panel, and waited for more information on Virgil’s condition. He got some a few minutes later when his father called in. 

“What’s happening?” John asked. 

“Virgil is in the infirmary. Brains is working to stabilize him. I’ll call when we know anything.” 

“Can I come home?” 

“I’ll speak with your brothers and get back to you.” 

“Thanks, Dad.” 

A few more frustrating minutes passed and then, 

“Yes, Dad?” 

“Scott and Alan are coming to get you. Alan will take your place for at least the next few days.” 

John felt something grow lighter within him. 

“Thank you,” he said, feeling unable to imbue his words with the depth of emotion he felt. 

“I’ll see you soon.” 

John packed quickly, his mind fogged and racing. He had no idea if he was packing anything of use, but the action made him feel productive. 

Once he’d finished, he left his bag by the airlock and sat on his bed, wringing his hands and trying not to panic from worry. 

“Permission to dock.” 

Alan’s voice was loud in the silence. John rushed over to the communicator, giving his brother permission and going mindlessly through the docking procedure. 

When his brothers came through the airlock, John could immediately see their exhaustion. They were both worn out in every way possible. 

John did something out of character and hugged them both. The gratitude for their sacrifice nearly overwhelmed him and he fought back tears. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“Let’s head back,” Scott said once John had released Alan. 

“See you soon,” Alan said. “Take care of Virg, will you?” 

John and Scott both gave Alan a nod to promise that they would do as he asked before they left to pilot Three back to the island. 

The trip was silent, broken only by a call from Jeff informing them that Brains had stabilized Virgil’s vital signs. John wanted to ask Scott for details about Virgil, but he resisted the urge. Instead, he endured the flight. He checked his watch and did some math, coming to the conclusion that they’d be arriving on the island in the middle of the night. He wondered if anyone would be asleep. His one consolation was that, being on the island, the morning _would_ come. He didn’t have to face the eternal night of space alone. Alan had saved him from that. 

Three landed and John rushed straight to the infirmary with Scott not too far behind him. He busted into the room, causing Brains to jump at his entrance. 

His gaze found Virgil. He was lying on one of the beds, machines beeping around him and an IV tube snaking out from his arm. His head was extensively bandaged and his face bore various cuts and bruises. John imagined that it had been a bloody wreck. There was a cast on one of Virgil’s arms and the other arm was bandaged. John had no idea if Virgil’s legs or torso were injured since they were hidden under the sheets. Virgil’s eyes were closed, as though in sleep. 

“How is he?” John asked softly. 

“He is s-stable,” Brains answered. 

John approached the bed, standing as close to his brother as he could. 

“Will he be alright?” 

The question was barely more than a whisper, as though its lack of volume somehow lessened the weight of its content. 

“Tonight will tell,” Brains said solemnly and John nearly started at the lack of stammering in Brains’ answer. 

John put a hand lightly on Virgil’s arm, wishing he could will strength into his body with his thoughts alone. He heard someone come into the infirmary and he turned to see Scott. 

“Any change?” the eldest Tracy son asked. 

Brains just shook his head. 

Scott looked at Virgil for a moment and then looked away, saying, 

“Come on, John. Let’s go to the lounge with the others.” 

“But—“ 

“Only for a few minutes,” Scott promised. “Then you can come back and be with Virgil.” 

John tapped Virgil’s arm once before following Scott out of the infirmary. 

As Scott had said, everyone was congregated in the lounge. Jeff sat at his desk, his face expressionless, and Grandma was in her rocking chair, furiously knitting something pink. Gordon and Kyrano sat on the couch and Tin-Tin was curled up in a chair, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. 

John sat beside Gordon on the couch as Scott went over to Tin-Tin, gently brushing her hair out of her face as he said, 

“Don’t worry, honey. Virg will be okay.” 

Tin-Tin just nodded miserably, as though she didn’t really believe Scott but didn’t have the energy to disagree. 

“Have you called Penny?” he asked her. This time, she gave him a real nod. 

“Alright then,” he said, as though he’d done his duty and now could stop questioning her. 

Wordlessly, he coaxed Tin-Tin out of the seat and sat in it himself, pulling her into his lap. She looked tiny and fragile as she gratefully curled up there, her head resting on his chest. Scott held her as silent tears ran down her cheeks, her outward display mirroring the emotional atmosphere of the room. 

John sat with the others for 20 minutes before he returned to the infirmary, no longer able to keep himself from Virgil’s side. He pulled up a chair and sat silently beside his brother. 

At first, he watched Virgil intensely, waiting for any sign of improvement. But as the night wore on, exhaustion got the better of John and he dozed off in the chair. 

He woke again some time later to a touch on his knee. He’d always been a light sleeper, so the contact brought him to full consciousness immediately. He looked around for a moment, disoriented, but when his gaze settled on Virgil, the night’s events came rushing back to him. 

“Virgil,” he croaked, his voice cracking with sleep and surprise. “You’re awake.” 

Virgil smiled weakly at him from the bed, his hand falling from John’s leg. 

“I am,” he said. 

“You scared us,” John admitted. 

“I didn’t mean to.” 

“But, you made it through the night.” 

There was awe in John’s voice. 

“I did,” Virgil said, the weight of John’s words not lost on him. 

John stood, saying, 

“I have to tell the others.” 

Virgil smiled and said, 

“Yes, we do. You have your watch? I’ll give Dad a call.” 

John took off his watch eagerly, handing it over to his brother. 

“Thanks,” Virgil said. John smiled at his younger brother and said nonchalantly, 

“Anytime.”


	19. Day

**19\. Day**

Brains squinted in concentration, watching as he soldered a delicate red wire onto a circuit board. His shoulders were starting to ache from leaning over for so many hours, but he didn’t have an extra hand to rub the discomfort away. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, why human beings didn’t have more than two hands. 

He vaguely heard the door to his lab open and Scott’s voice broke through his thoughts, 

“Brains?” 

“In here,” he called back, his gaze still focused on his work. He heard Scott’s footsteps approaching, his gait more careful and a bit slower than usual. 

“I thought you might be up,” Scott said, his voice cheery. 

“I j-just want to f-finish this,” Brains replied, finally attaching the wire and looking up at Scott. The eldest Tracy boy had two cups of coffee in his hands and, sweaty and dressed in gym clothes, he looked like he’d just returned from a run. 

Brains was a bit confused by the sight. Scott always ran in the morning and surely it was still nighttime… 

“Coffee?” Scott asked in the pause created by Brains’ consternation. 

“S-scott,” Brains began, staring at the coffee, “what t-time is it?” 

“Six something,” Scott answered, openly confused by the question. 

“In the m-morning?” 

“Yes.” Scott paused, the situation suddenly clear to him. “Brains, have you been up all night working?” 

“It was an a-accident,” Brains explained. 

“So, do you want coffee?” Scott asked again, extending one cup toward the scientist. 

“No, thank you, Scott,” Brains answered assuredly. “I think it’s t-time I g-get some sleep.” 

With that, Brains stood and left his lab, leaving behind an amused Scott with two cups of untouched coffee in his hands.


	20. Colour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to try something different for this one. I've written it as if Scott and Penny are having a conversation via an IR text-based messaging system. So just imagine futuristic text messaging. :) Hope it makes sense!

**20\. Colour**

**Scott:** I wish u were here. Dad found this shirt in the back of his closet  & decided to wear it. U would faint if u saw it 

**Penny:** Oh dear. What does it look like? 

**Scott:** It’s right out of the early ‘30s. Huge collar  & reflective material & everything 

**Penny:** Oh no. What colour is it? 

**Scott:** Neon yellow. And color with a u? You Brits are so weird with your defiantly different spelling of random words 

**Penny:** If you remember, the Americans were the “defiant” ones. 

**Scott:** Ha Ha. Thanks for the history lesson 

**Penny:** I’m simply pointing out facts. 

**Scott:** Typical 

**Penny:** There’s no need to get upset, Scott. Especially not over a little u. 

**Scott:** I know. And I’m not upset. I guess u just know how to push my buttons 

**Penny:** Consider it one of my many talents. 

**Scott:** So modest 

**Penny:** I’m only stating facts. 

**Scott:** Good one. Do u smile to yourself when u get away with things like that? 

**Penny:** A woman has to keep some of her secrets. 

**Scott:** Or all of them 

**Penny:** Touché. 

**Scott:** So can I humoUr u with a photo of my father in his favoUrite yellow coloUred shirt? 

**Penny:** I see you’ve decided to adopt our superior spelling. And I thought you said that the mere sight of this monstrosity would cause me to faint? Surely, you can’t wish such ill will to befall me. 

**Scott:** After all your superioUr English attitude, I’m having second thoughts 

**Penny:** Superior only ever has one u. And in my defense, I’d like to comment that I doubt that the sight of a shirt could cause me any real harm. I’m made from tougher stuff, you know. 

**Scott:** It’s funny to think that most of the world is convinced otherwise 

**Penny:** Yes. I rather enjoy the dramatic irony. 

**Scott:** You would 

**Penny:** Now, that photo? 

**Scott:** I’ll sneak into the lounge and get one 

**Penny:** Good luck. 

**Scott:** Maybe I should ask Gordon to do it. He’s much sneakier than I am 

**Penny:** Honestly, Scott, it doesn’t require much stealth to take a covert photograph. I speak from experience. 

**Scott:** Of course u do 

**Penny:** Just please take the photograph, Scott. 

**Scott:** I think u only use my name when ur annoyed with me. Or teasing 

**Penny:** Nonsense. 

**Scott:** Ok got the photo 

**Penny:** Wonderful. 

**Scott:** No “good job” or “thank you”? 

**Penny:** Tin-Tin says hi. 

**Scott:** I give up 

**Penny:** Oh, this photo is simply priceless. 

**Scott:** Ur welcome 

**Penny:** You were not exaggerating about the shirt. 

**Scott:** Told u so 

**Penny:** Goodness, that colour…


	21. Note

“Why did you record that?” Virgil asked, covering his ears as Alan and Gordon smiled at him. They’d lured him into Gordon’s room and it was only now that Virgil realized it was a mistake. 

“But Lady P has such a _beautiful_ singing voice!” Gordon said, grinning wildly. 

“Yeah, just about as good as yours,” Virgil commented. “You both get about twenty percent of the notes correct.” 

“Twenty percent! Oh, so scientific!” Alan said, turning the dial to increase the volume of the playback. It reverberated in the small room, attacking Virgil’s sensitive eardrums. 

“Just _please_ turn it off!” he said. 

“Not until you make it worth it for us,” Gordon replied. Alan turned up the volume again. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” Virgil asked. 

“You were born with perfect pitch and we weren’t,” Alan said. “That’s reason enough.” 

“You’re really using genetics as an excuse right now?” Virgil asked. 

“We have to use whatever we have,” Gordon said. “So, one month of making our beds.” 

“And taking our dish-cleaning shifts,” Alan added. 

“Okay, fine,” Virgil agreed. “just turn off this infernal racket.” 

“And you have to wax Four,” Gordon said, his hand hovering over the stop button. 

“And Three!” Alan said. 

“Now this is getting out of hand,” Virgil said, glaring at his younger brothers. “I’ll do the chores, but I am _not_ waxing a submarine and a rocket! That’s just insane.” 

“You know what else is insane?” Gordon asked, restarting the recording. 

“That’s it,” Virgil said, running for the door. But Alan and Gordon were too fast and, with their combined strength, they were able to stop him. 

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” Virgil complained. “I plead the eighth!” 

“You’re such a _nerd_!” Gordon shouted over the music. 

“We’re not letting you go until you agree to do our chores and wax the ‘birds,” Alan said. 

Virgil hesitated in his brothers’ grip, the off-key notes of Penny’s singing eating viciously at his highly-trained brain. Suddenly, it was too much. 

“Okay!” Virgil gave in. “I’ll do it. Just stop this torture.” 

“Whatever you say,” Gordon said, releasing Virgil and shutting off the recording. 

Sweet silence filled Virgil’s ears and he couldn’t help but smile. 

_3 days later…_

“Why are we doing this again?” Scott asked, rubbing wax onto Thunderbird Four. 

“You don’t want to know,” Virgil replied, rubbing an aching arm before returning to the waxing job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every musician can feel Virgil's pain...


	22. Fire

Brains screamed, his voice louder and higher pitched than Tin-Tin had ever heard it. She raced into his part of the lab, safety goggles still on her face. 

The words “ _what is it?_ ” were on the tip of her tongue, but they dissipated before they could be released. A fire, hungry and red, had sprung up in the lab and Brains seemed frozen in place, unable to deal with it. So Tin-Tin leapt into action, pulling Brains away from the flames by his arm. 

“Brains,” she instructed, running toward the extinguisher that was secured onto the wall. “Grab the other extinguisher.” 

When he didn’t move, she came back to his side, pushing him in the direction of the second emergency extinguisher. She pulled the pin on hers, unleashing the foam on the fire. 

With her focus on the fire, she didn’t notice that Brains had followed her instructions until she saw his extinguisher’s foam adding to her own. After a moment, they had put the fire out completely. 

Tin-Tin put down her extinguisher with a sigh of relief, taking her safety goggles off and wiping a layer of sweat from her forehead. 

“That w-was a c-close one,” Brains said. 

“It was,” Tin-Tin agreed. 

Brains stared at the dusty remains where the fire had once been as Tin-Tin made a call to Jeff. Once she was finished, Brains looked over at Tin-Tin and, his voice still a bit shaky, he said, 

“T-thank you, T-Tin-Tin.” 

“We both put out the fire,” she replied. 

“B-but w-without you—“ 

“Think nothing of it,” Tin-Tin assured him. “That’s what assistants are for.” 

Brains looked away, but Tin-Tin could still see the small smile on his face. 

“I s-suppose so.”


	23. Path

John laid on the couch in the lounge, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about how much he missed his house back in Kansas. He’d never expected that his family would relocate to a swanky tropical island, separated from civilization in a private paradise. He knew that he should be grateful, but all he could feel was sadness at leaving his childhood home. 

Suddenly Scott appeared in his line of vision, a few new pimples having appeared overnight on his teenage face. 

“Whatcha doing?” he asked. John sighed. 

“Nothing.” 

Scott moved around the couch to sit at John’s feet, pushing his younger brother over to make room. 

“You’re not the type to do nothing,” Scott pointed out. John just snorted and covered his eyes with his arm. 

“Come on, Johnny,” Scott said. “You can’t just lie around all day. Let’s do something.” 

“Do what?” 

Scott thought for a moment, mindlessly shaking John’s socked foot back and forth. 

“Hey, cut that out,” John said, sitting up to glare at his brother. 

“Only if you get up and do something with me.” 

“Alright, fine,” John conceded. “What did you have in mind?” 

“You know, I actually have something to show you.” 

“Oh, really.” John lifted an eyebrow skeptically. 

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Scott said, leaping up from the couch. After a moment of decision, John stood and reluctantly followed. 

A few minutes later, they were away from the house and out on the edge of a forest. 

“What are we doing here?” John asked, wrinkling his nose at the exorbitant amount of _nature_. 

“I found this really cool path the other day,” Scott explained. “And I wanted to see where it led. Might as well explore it with you.” 

“Oh, lucky me,” John deadpanned. 

Scott turned to look at him, lifting an eyebrow as he said, 

“You _are_ in a mood today. I should have brought Virgil along to calm you down.” 

John didn’t answer this, only followed Scott along the foot-worn path into the forest. 

“I don’t understand,” John said as they walked, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “How can there be a path here if we’re the first ones to live here in a long time?” 

“I didn’t think about that,” Scott said. 

“Maybe this is just one of Kyrano’s favorite nature walks,” John said. 

“You’re so logical,” Scott replied. “I’m hoping it’s something a bit more interesting than that.” 

“Well, who else would go out walking in the forest?” 

“Tin-Tin maybe? Or Virgil?” Scott suggested. 

“Still sounds like a nature walk to me and not some treasure hunt.” 

“Treasure!” Scott said, stepping over a large fallen branch. “I didn’t even think of that.” 

John shook his head good-naturedly at his brother’s enthusiasm. 

The path suddenly ended and the brothers looked around for anything of interest. 

“Well, here we are,” John announced. “What is it?” 

“Give me a minute,” Scott said. He took a few exploratory steps in each direction. Just when John was about to give up, Scott peeked through a bit of dense foliage and shouted, “Hey, look at this!” John raced to his side, straining to see what Scott had found. 

The forest opened up into a lush clearing, a clear pond sparkling in the afternoon sun. A few palm trees surrounded the small body of water, casting shade over half of it. 

For the first time that day, John smiled. At the sight of the beautiful, clear water, a bit of his sadness fell away. He thought that perhaps he could come to see this place as home. 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Scott asked. 

Quietly yet confidently, John turned to his brother and replied, 

“I think it’s time for a swim.”


	24. Symbol

**24\. Symbol**

They say that when you’re on the brink of death, you see your life flash before your eyes. But, in my case, everything blurred into vague, singular thoughts: fire, smoke, hot, _no air, no air, no air._

I did think about my girlfriend back home who thought I was just fine and my little nephew who I’d never get to hear say my name. But they were tiny islands of tranquility amidst the valiant fight to stay alive. The rest of my consciousness was sacrificed to the world of fire that I knew would be my tomb. 

I felt my lungs collapsing under the weight of the heat and my legs buckled from the lack of oxygen. Just when my vision began to darken at the edges, I heard a voice over the roar of the flames. 

I listened, quieting my breathing as much as possible, as I waited for the voice to come again. I needed proof that it had been real and not just a figment of my desperate imagination. 

But there it was again – a masculine voice calling out. 

“I’m here!” I shouted back as loud as I could, coughing back the smoke that invaded my lungs. 

The pounding of feet came toward me, moving fast, and suddenly there were arms under me, pulling me to my feet. 

“Don’t worry,” the voice said calmly, the words distinct and close to my ear. “I’ve got you.” 

“Tha—“ I tried to get out but I ended up coughing instead. 

“Lean on me,” the man instructed. “We’ll be out of here in no time.” 

As I took one step after another, I obediently leaned heavily against my rescuer. I couldn’t help but think that each moment I was moving farther away from my death and closer to my normal life. Normal life – that precious thing that I’d never wanted more than I did in this moment. 

We emerged from the fiery building into the smoky air of downtown Chicago. Immediately someone was forcing an oxygen mask on my face and another uniformed woman was rolling a stretcher in my direction. It was all a flurry of activity and when my rescuer released me, I gripped his arm and turned to face him. Soot covered his face and caked his hair, but his brown eyes were bright and his smile was genuine. I pulled off the oxygen mask and sputtered, 

“How can I thank you?” 

He pointed at the sash he wore and I noticed for the first time the logo for International Rescue. 

“All in a day’s work,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Thank you,” I said again before my body convulsed into another coughing fit. I quickly put the mask back over my mouth. 

“You should rest,” the IR man said. “I have to get back to my team.” 

I nodded and the man gave me a nod before jogging away. 

I let the EMT lie me down on a stretcher as I gratefully breathed in the pure oxygen. I thought about the IR logo and how it was the loveliest symbol of all.


	25. Lightning

**25\. Lightning**

I always used to imagine that Tracy Island was the only place in the world that could have a thunderstorm on Christmas Day. 

And it was lightning and thunder that had me hiding in my room on Christmas morning instead of celebrating in the lounge with everyone else. 

Finally, expectedly, there was a knock on my door and a soft, 

“Tin-Tin? Are you alright?” 

“One moment,” I answered and gingerly reached for my dressing gown at the foot of my bed. I gathered it around me, returning to my hovel of pillows and blankets before I said, 

“Come in.” 

The door slid open and Virgil stood at the threshold, decked out in a festive, yet fashionable, sweater and slacks. His concern was strikingly obvious on his handsome face and in his kind, brown eyes. 

He hesitated in the doorway, his fingers playing rhythmically on the doorframe. I knew he was waiting for permission to enter, so I nodded at him and he stepped through the door, which closed with a hiss behind him. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked softly. “We were worried when you weren’t the first one up.” 

I smiled instinctively at the warmth in Virgil’s voice. He was always so gentle, so sensitive. They were smart to send him. 

I pulled the sheets closer around me and blushed with embarrassment as I realized that I’d have to explain why I was still in bed. 

Just then, an especially bright flash of lightning lit up the room and I tensed automatically, waiting for the inevitable crash of thunder. 

It came too quickly, too loudly. I shook involuntarily, dropping my head onto my bent knees. Almost instantaneously, I felt the bed sink slightly and Virgil’s arms were around me, his steady heart beating against my arm. 

Another one of the Tracy boys might have stupidly asked if I was scared, but Virgil didn’t need words to show that he understood. He told me in the intensity of his protective grasp. 

“You’re okay, honey,” he said. “The storm will pass. These never last long, you know.” 

I only had the strength to nod, my throat tight with fear. Virgil rubbed my back and the shaking that had started a moment before calmed a bit. 

We sat there, Virgil thinking about who-knows-what, and I passed the time counting his breaths. They were calm, predictable, steadying. And the lightning came again and again and again until I’d counted dozens of Virgil-breaths. 

“The space between the lightning and the thunder is increasing,” Virgil said between bouts. “That means that it’s getting farther away. It’s leaving.” 

Finally, the space grew so great that the storm had finished completely. Virgil stayed with me as my body slowly relaxed, my heart rate returning to normal. 

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” I whispered into the quiet. Virgil’s breath stopped mid-inhale and then evened out again before he answered, 

“Of course not.” 

“You promise?” 

Virgil nodded, slowly releasing me before turning to face me. His mouth was a tight line, but his eyes were full of compassion. 

“We’re all afraid of something,” he said. “And I know for a fact that you’ve faced much greater things – much more important things – with more courage than most people. It’s a wonder how so much courage is able to fit in that tiny body of yours.” 

I smiled at him and I felt another blush creeping across my cheeks. 

“You’re too kind,” I told him. 

“But it’s the truth,” Virgil insisted. “If all you’re afraid of is some lightning, I think we can all thank our lucky stars because that’s a rather small thing to fear.” 

I nodded slowly, absorbing Virgil’s words. He always knew just what to say and he always sounded so wise saying it. I decided in that moment that he had been aptly named. 

“Hey, look,” he said, two fingers gently touching my arm. I picked up my head and he clarified, “The sun is coming out. It looks like we’ll have nice weather for Christmas after all.” 

I looked over to my window and, sure enough, the sun’s golden beams were dusting the glass. I couldn’t help but think that it was just the sort of scene that Virgil would paint. 

“How lovely,” I said. 

I could feel Virgil watching me, judging my mood. After a moment, he asked, 

“Do you want to join the others?” 

I thought of the Christmas tree and the hot cocoa and Gordon’s annual strange Christmas sweater and I knew that there was nowhere else I wanted to be. 

“Yes,” I said with a smile. “I’m ready.” 

Virgil stood from the bed triumphantly, extending a hand toward me. I took it, but I hesitated a moment before standing. Instead, I said, 

“Virgil?” 

“Yes?” 

“Merry Christmas.” 

He smiled that pleasant, quiet smile of his. 

“Merry Christmas, Tin-Tin.”


	26. Silk

**26\. Silk**

“Oh, isn’t it beautiful?” Tin-Tin cooed, pulling a long green dress from a shopping bag at her feet, its slippery material cascading open for Virgil’s inspection. Jeff looked up from where he sat reading at his desk to watch their interaction. The sight of the material sparked a vivid memory despite his best efforts to suppress it. 

The night had already darkened to its deepest black when the wail broke through the quiet and the king-sized bed dipped slightly beneath Jeff as the mattress lost one of its occupants. He turned, still half asleep, and waited until his bedmate returned, bringing the quiet with her. 

“Everything alright?” Jeff muttered through the fog of sleep. 

“Just Gordon,” Lucy answered in her night-raspy voice. “But he’s fine now. I settled him down.” 

Lucy slipped under the sheets, drawing close to Jeff’s side. He pulled her to him, his fingers gathering her silk nightgown into tiny bunches with groggy imprecision. The fabric was soft and familiar beneath his fingertips, luring him back to dreams. 

As he drifted off, his last though lingered on Lucy’s silk nightgown and how some things never changed no matter how different and hectic life became.


	27. Waterfall

**27\. Waterfall**

Penny preened under the hot Caribbean sun, leaning back in her reclining lounger as Parker adjusted the umbrella above her for the third time in twenty minutes. 

“Really, Parker,” she said kindly, “it is quite alright as it is. Sit down. You must learn how to relax.” 

“Yes, milady.” 

With her eyes closed, Penny could hear Parker shuffling back to his chair, which creaked slightly when he sat. Then, a sigh and the crinkle of paper joined the symphony of Parker sounds and Penny let out a breath of relief, content with the situation. 

Just as she was settling into a peaceful slumber, she heard the sound of feet running on sand. And they were coming towards her. Her training kicked in and she opened her eyes without a second thought. 

“Penelope!” came a breathy voice and its owner followed soon after. 

Tin-Tin stood over Penny, clad in a red bikini and dripping water everywhere. The girl’s long, dark hair was slicked back as she leaned over Penny, who moved her legs instinctually to keep from getting wet, to grab a towel. 

“Hello, dear,” Penny said sleepily, returning to her languid position and closing her eyes once more. 

“You’ll never believe what I found,” Tin-Tin gushed, drawing the towel around her shoulders. The excitement in Tin-Tin’s voice caught Penny’s attention, prompting her to open her eyes and wake up a bit. 

“What is it?” she asked, genuinely curious. Tin-Tin shook her head, smiling. 

“You just have to see it,” she explained. 

“Very well,” Penny replied, standing from her place on the recliner. She turned to Parker and said, “We’ll be right back.” 

“Very good, milady,” he replied, not even looking up from his magazine. 

Tin-Tin put out her hand and Penny took it, following her toward her mysterious discovery. 

They’d only walked a little ways along the beach, leaving the other beach goers farther and farther behind, when Tin-Tin stopped at a copse of palms that hid everything from view. 

“It’s just through here,” she said, tugging on Penny’s hand when she felt a slight hesitance from the other woman. Tin-Tin guessed that Penny didn’t want to get dirty, so she just smiled and said, “Don’t worry, you don’t have to walk through any dirt.” Satisfied with this, Penny followed Tin-Tin through the palms. 

Once they’d made it through the tiny forest, the space opened to reveal a huge, glistening waterfall. 

“Gorgeous,” Penny breathed. Tin-Tin watched her girlfriend’s face, smiling even wider. 

“I knew you’d love it.” 

“I do.” 

Tin-Tin took the towel off her shoulders, throwing it on the ground before racing toward the pool and jumping in. She dove under the water, disappearing for a moment, but when she surfaced again, she turned toward Penny and waved. 

“Come on in,” she encouraged. “The water is beautiful.” 

Penny waited a moment, simply watching Tin-Tin swim around the private pool. The sun glinted off the falling water, creating streams of gold and white around Tin-Tin. 

“Come in, Penelope,” she called again, splashing water toward her playfully. 

“If you insist,” Penny said, feigning reluctance. In reality, she couldn’t get into the water fast enough. Still, she elegantly removed her sandals, hat, and cover-up before arranging them carefully at the pool’s edge. Tin-Tin just watched her, unsurprised at Penny’s meticulousness. 

“Come in, love,” Tin-Tin said softly, unable to stop from smiling at Penny in her pink bathing suit. 

“Patience is a virtue, dear,” Penny answered before sliding into the pool. 

“As I recall,” Tin-Tin murmured, swimming to Penny’s side, “that is not what you said last night.” 

Penny didn’t even bother to refute that comment; instead, she covered Tin-Tin’s mouth with her own and relished in the beauty both around her and beneath her fingertips.


End file.
